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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069823">I Killed Tom Riddle - The Chamber of Secrets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Something_happens_sometimes/pseuds/Something_happens_sometimes'>Something_happens_sometimes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Killed Tom Riddle [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon Rewrite, Characters in different houses, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Slytherins, Major Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Character, References to Depression, The Author Regrets Nothing, Time Travel Fix-It, What Was I Thinking?, i have no idea what im doing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 00:33:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Something_happens_sometimes/pseuds/Something_happens_sometimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Year 2. Harry just want's to have a normal year, but unforeseen circumstances forces him to face the truth. This world is very different to the one he originally worshipped. Reality hit him in the face, and now he has to deal with an unpredictable world, consequences, and some unwanted memories.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Killed Tom Riddle [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Worst Birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Remember… Remember… All I do is forget. War is coming. You know that. You see that. It is and always will be your past, present, and future, because you can never stay away. You wanted this, so you get this. Endless, perpetual regeneration. This is bigger than your world… than what you thought your future would be. Did you really think once the Battle would be over, you would go home? Well, you’re wrong. You’ve been dead this whole time, and no one but yourself can save you. Trust me on this. Take it and run. The guy with a thousand faces, the guy who keeps on running because he dare not look back out of shame. It’s not just the books. The Battle will never compare to the War. If you’ve been paying attention, you will understand your fate. I will always remember…</em>
</p><p>This I don’t understand. The whispers haunting my dreams keep mentioning a war… something bigger than the Battle of Hogwarts. Why couldn’t I go home? Shouldn’t it make sense for me to go home once this story is over? And regeneration… That reminds me of something. Something blue and old. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Fuck, I can’t remember anything. And what guy? Why can’t my dreams explain anything?</p><p>It’s probably nothing.</p><p>This summer has been so fucking boring. No one talks to me, so I’ve spent most of my time in my bedroom, and the park – well, the swings, but it’s fun. Hedwig’s allowed out of her cage; at the start of the summer, I wrote a few letters to my friends, but I haven’t gotten any back. Hedwig usually comes back ruffled, and this makes me worried about the plan. Maybe Draco couldn’t stop his house elf, or maybe Dobby is stealing the letters in secret. Anyway, it’s highly likely he’ll visit me on my “twelfth birthday”, so I’ll have to negotiate with him before he does anything dangerous and reckless. Things are going to change. And I’m allowed to have my magic stuff in my bedroom. Thank the gods anyway. Managed to finish my homework in three weeks. Got all my free time to reread my textbooks, and all the dusty books on those shelves. Mostly educational books, and luckily Dudley abandoned them. I abandoned the list as well, so the future’s a free-for-all. Got bored. Gonna bring those science books to Hogwarts, to teach Draco about basic biology.</p><p> </p><p>So, it’s midnight already, and my “birthday”. 19-years-old this year and hanging around a bunch of immature 12- to 13-year-olds. Christ, this is going to be long. Technically speaking, I am 12, so I’ll have to act like one. And these Muggle textbooks are so outdated! I mean, I’m technically not alive for another 10 years, but no wonder Dudley ain’t that smart. Best go to sleep now. Seriously need a good night’s sleep to prepare for the rest of today.</p><p> </p><p>It’s now 8 am – breakfast. Hedwig got a bit of a fly around in the back garden and is sleeping now. I bet she won’t awake for another few hours. As I headed down the stairs, the shuffling of bowls and cardboard told me cereal was on the menu today. Might as well since it was a Wednesday. Petunia was in the kitchen making breakfast, and I wandered over to make myself some. She ignored me of course, but her eyes followed as I set myself down at the table. She placed her own bowl on the side and began on making bacon and eggs for her “darling” husband and son. I took my time, and a while later, Vernon and Dudley were at the table with me, pushing through one or two plates of bacon and eggs. Petunia was set on making a bit more and had since finished her own breakfast. I grabbed a bit of the bacon and eggs once I finished the cereal.</p><p>“Big day today,” announced Vernon suddenly. “Today could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career.”</p><p>Of course. You all know what happened the last time this happened. The twat never gets his deal; that poor lady gets traumatised by an OWL OF ALL THINGS; I basically get sentenced to life in my bedroom, but get freed by the Weasleys; I was also not smart enough to negotiate with a house elf; and Petunia’s weird pudding gets obliterated on said poor lady’s head.</p><p>“I think we should run the schedule one more time,” he continued. “We should all be position at eight o-clock. Petunia, you will be-?”</p><p>“In the lounge,” Petunia said promptly. “Waiting to welcome them graciously into our home.”</p><p>“Good, and you, Dudley?”</p><p>“I’ll be waiting at the door,” Dudley said in some stupid smile. “‘May I take your coats, Mr, and Mrs Mason?’”</p><p>“They’ll love him,” Petunia said rapturously.</p><p>“Excellent, Dudley,” Vernon said. Then he rounded on me. “And you will be?”</p><p>“I’ll be in my room, making no noise, and pretending I don’t exist,” I said tonelessly.</p><p>“Exactly,” he said, almost snarling. “I will be leading them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight fifteen -”</p><p>“I will announce dinner,” Petunia replied.</p><p>“And Dudley, you will be-?”</p><p>“‘May I take you into the dining room, Mrs Mason?’” Dudley said, while also holding up an arm to an invisible person.</p><p>“My perfect little man!” Petunia sniffed.</p><p>“And you will be?” Vernon targeted at me again.</p><p>“I will be in my room, making no noise, and pretending I don’t exist,” I repeated without tone.</p><p>“Precisely. Now we should aim to get a few good compliments in at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?”</p><p>“‘Vernon tells me you’re a <em>wonderful</em> golfer, Mr Mason… Do tell where you bought that fabulous dress, Mrs Mason…’”</p><p>“Perfect, Dudley?”</p><p>“How about: ‘We had to write an essay about our heroes at school, Mr Mason, and <em>I</em> wrote about you?’”</p><p>Dear God, I hope he uses something else; that was terrible. Petunia burst into tears as she wrapped herself around Dudley. It was a bit too much for her, I presume.</p><p>“And you, boy?”</p><p>“I will be in my room, making no noise, and pretending I don’t exist.”</p><p>“Too right you will,” Vernon said forcefully. “The Masons don’t know anything about you and it’s going to stay that way. When dinner’s over, you will take Mrs Mason into the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I’ll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I’ll have the deal signed and sealed before the <em>News at 10</em>. We’ll be shopping for a holiday home in Majorca this time tomorrow.”</p><p>I doubt they will, but I think a change of scenery would be nice for once. Apart from Hogwarts. It might be nice for all of us.</p><p>“Right – I’m off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you,” Vernon snarled at me, “you stay out of your aunt’s way while she’s cleaning.”</p><p>I soon left through the back door into the garden. It was a bright, sunny day, and I plunked down on the bench, staring at the hedge. Waiting for Dobby. My mind drifted towards the dreams I had been having. Why a thousand faces? What did the whispers mean by <em>keeps on running</em>? This makes sense in some way… I just can’t remember. I know it’s familiar. Why won’t my brain let me remember? The War has to be important; it has to be. Is it a different universe?</p><p>I almost jumped as a jeering voice floated across the lawn. “I know what day it is,” sang Dudley, walking towards me. I guess Dobby ain’t coming then. Now how will I talk to my friends?</p><p>“What?” I asked.</p><p>“It’s your birthday,” he sneered. “How come you don’t have any cards?” Don’t you have any friends at that freak place?”</p><p>“Bugger off, Dudley,” I said tiredly.</p><p>“Bet you’re hated there as well, cos you’re too freakish.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I’m not really bothered.”</p><p>“Ugh, you’re no fun. You’re too boring.”</p><p>Dudley had quickly decided that I wasn’t entertaining enough to be taunted at, and wandered back inside, watching TV, and eating ice-creams. I laid down on the bench staring at the sky for God knows how long. Stuck inside my own. Barely any clouds; just an endless, boundless blue sky for miles on end.  At half past seven, I heard Petunia calling me.</p><p>“Get in here! And walk on the newspapers!”</p><p>I moved swiftly into the shade of the kitchen, noticing it was much colder than the sun-drenched garden. On top of the fridge was a large pink pudding, topped with whipped cream and chocolate-covered strawberries. A joint of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.</p><p>“Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!” Petunia snapped, pointing at two small ham and cheese sandwiches. She was wearing a nice salmon-pink cocktail dress. I washed my hands, and speedily ate my dinner. Wasn’t bad, wasn’t good. The moment I finished; Petunia whisked away my plate. She then rushed me out of the kitchen, and I dashed for my room. Passing the living room, I caught a glimpse of Dudley and Vernon in nice suits. And I only managed to reach the landing when the doorbell rang. Vernon growled at me to get to my room. I slowly and quietly tiptoed over to my room, and slipped inside, ready to collapse on my bed. The problem was, there was already something, or someone, sitting on it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dobby's Warning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>OC-Harry and Dobby's first meeting goes surprisingly well given everything.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This strange, small creature was sitting on my bed. They had large bat-like ears and their eyes were wide and green. I tried not to make a noise as I slowly shut my door. The creature definitely looked like a house-elf. Fucksake, I knew the plan hadn’t worked. One definite confirmation on the reason Hedwig had come back ruffled, and the clear absence of letters.</p><p>“Hello?” I asked quietly.</p><p>“It is an honour to meet you, Harry Potter,” they said in such a high-pitched voice I was afraid it would carry down the stairs.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but can you be a bit quieter? You see, my family has Muggles round, and since they don’t know magic and all that exists, I can’t risk breaking the International Statute of Secrecy,” I whispered back.</p><p>“Oh, yes. Dobby understands very much. Dobby has heard much greatness about you, Harry Potter,” Dobby replied in a hushed tone.</p><p>“Did Draco Malfoy send you?”</p><p>“No, sir. If young Master Draco knew of the consequences, of the bad things going to happen at Hogwarts, then he would not have tried to stop Dobby. But Master Draco has...!”</p><p>He yelped a little and immediately lunged for the lamp, attempting to punish himself. I pushed forward and went for his arms. I could not let him hurt himself. Not on my watch.</p><p>“You are forbidden from hurting yourself in this household. Remember, if the Muggles or my family find out you’re here, there could serious trouble for the both of us. and I don’t want to see you getting hurt,” I said quickly and quietly. Dobby lowered his arms and stared at me. He remained silent.</p><p>“And if you may, do you want to sit back on the bed? Don’t raise your voice,” I continued. His eyes whelmed with tears as he shakily sat down on the end of the bed.</p><p>“Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard – like an equal –” he choked in a low voice. He tried to suppress a hiccough and continued to stare at me in a watery adoration.</p><p>“Can you tell me why you’re here, Dobby?”</p><p>“Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he <em>does</em> have to shut his ears in the oven door later… <em>Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts,</em>” Dobby whispered.</p><p>“Like hell, that’s going to happen. I am aware of what is going to happen this year, and I am the only person who can fight this,” I replied a little angrily. I was going back to that damn school, and no one could stop me.</p><p>“No, no, no,” he wailed quietly. “If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger.”</p><p>“I will be in mortal danger if I stay here. You have to listen to me. What I fear would happen, is if you prevent me from going, Hogwarts will be in more danger than you say <em>I</em> will be in. I know what’s coming.”</p><p>“Master Draco has mentioned your foreseeing sight, yes. Master Draco has tried to prevent Dobby from protecting the great Harry Potter, but it did not succeed in the way he wanted…”</p><p>“Okay, and I forgot to mention this, but where are my letters? I’m not mad, I just need them. I know you’ve been taking them. Hedwig’s wings been ruffled every time she comes back from delivering letters.”</p><p>“Oh, Dobby is sorry. Dobby thought if you felt isolated, then you wouldn’t want to go back to Hogwarts-”</p><p>“If you could hand me my letters, everything would be fine. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t screw this up for us. I was going to go to Hogwarts anyway, and like I said, I know about it, about everything. You can’t stop it. And it is imperative you do not destroy this evening for everyone in this household.”</p><p>“Dobby is deeply sorry again. Since you have insisted upon returning to Hogwarts, Dobby shall return your letters and leave immediately. Dobby will remind himself to punish himself very much later,” he cried softly. “Dobby should have listened to Master Draco…”</p><p>“Thank you. And be careful okay. May we meet again, Dobby.”</p><p>Dobby pulled out a small stack of letters from underneath his pillowcase and handed it to me immediately. Without a moment’s thought, he apparated back to Malfoy Manor. There were several letters from Ron and Hermione, quite a few from Draco, and one or two from Hagrid. Ron kept asking whether I would write back or not and threaten to come over and duel the Muggles if he had to if I didn’t reply back. Hermione talked about her holiday and was also concerned about me not writing back. Draco kept talking about menial things, complaining about his father, hoping I would write back, and saying he would get better on the “being nice” thing; on one or two of them, there were smallish heart and star doodles in the corners. I swear, I do not like him in that way. I do not do the whole love thing; it’s too messy and complicated, and I’m afraid of commitment. Hagrid wished me a happy holidays and apologised for his inability to hold a secret that resulted in me having to fight my archenemy again.</p><p>I decided to write a letter to Ron, Hermione, and Draco explaining my situation, but I thought about holding out on Hagrid until we spoke again. I would a write a letter to Mrs Weasley asking her to pick me as soon as possible to get me out of this hellhole.</p><p>It was reaching twelve before I lay down my pen finally. Four letters; three almost the same, and the fourth a sort of plea to get out of this prison. I guess I should read through that last one since I don’t know Mrs Weasley too well.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Mrs Weasley,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Under some strange events that have occurred recently, I have not been able to contact my best friend, Ron, your youngest son. Ron has mentioned something about me being able to stay over at your place for the rest of the holidays, and I would like to ask to see if you can pick me up tomorrow at three please. I can’t stay with my Muggle family any longer this summer. They are not the best of people and I want to spend my summer with my friend happily. Please write back as soon as you get this letter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry Potter</em>
</p><p>Well, I going to fucking regret writing this letter, but I’ll send it out anyway. Mrs Weasley is the most motherly figure in this series and I’m sure she’ll understand. This whole night has been a shitshow I did not expect. Dobby was definitely way more compliant than originally, and my stupid emotions refuse to stay repressed. Staying within the plot line is the most important thing I can do. Respect the plot. And deviating from the plot is gives me too much anxiety and I’m not prepared for unexpected changes.</p><p>I opened up Hedwig’s cage, and tied the letters to her legs. “Go to the Burrow, Ron’s place, Hermione’s house, and Malfoy Manor, Draco’s room. You’ve got that. Be discreet when going to Malfoy Manor, okay,” I whispered urgently. Hedwig hooted softly, and when I opened the window wide open, she flew out into the night, hopefully coming back unruffled this time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Burrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Welcome to the Burrow, where life is perfectly magical</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tick, tick, tick, went the grandfather clock. It chimed loudly as it hit twelve noon. Lunch, and I was prepared to bring out the big guns. Let the Dursleys know a witch was going to arrive in three hours to take me away for the rest of the holidays. Vernon had the day off; Petunia was busy either chatting with some old friends on the phone or hoovering up the place – she avoided my room for obvious reasons; and Dudley mostly stayed in his room playing video games or in the living room watching TV. I had woken up late, for a start. Eleven am, and I couldn’t just laze around for a couple hours on my phone. God, I miss my phone so much. I was too distracted and in awe last year to fully recognise that this world was 20-, 30-something years in my past. No WIFI, no smartphones, and I have to live with this for another six years. I spent an hour cleaning up my own room and trying to put all of my Hogwarts stuff and a couple textbooks into my suitcase. When I almost completed everything, Petunia called, saying lunch was ready. She usually served me a smaller portion, and it was usually the worse bits she cooked wrong. If it was chicken and salad again, Imma head out. That dish disgusts me.</p>
<p>Upon entering the kitchen, no one acknowledged me. A small, measly chicken pot pie sat on the counter. At least there’s no coleslaw with this. Vernon was talking about the signed deal of last night, and how this household would come into some “much needed” money to spend. He had already been promoted a few weeks ago, and now he was becoming much wealthier than the books touched upon. “My friend’s mum is picking me up at three, and I’m not coming back until next summer,” I blurted out.</p>
<p>“What?! One of <em>those</em> people are going to be at our door?! <em>Today?!</em>” Petunia angrily shrieked. “And you only care to tell us, NOW?!”</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare, boy, tell our address to those kinds of freaks. The neighbours will think we’re up to something, and the last time we met one of <em>those</em> people, poor Dudley ended up in the damn hospital,” Vernon bellowed. I shoved down my meal with a glass of water. Get this finished so you won’t have to suffer later.</p>
<p>“Yes, I understand. I’m sorry, I should’ve said. But this was last minute, and you have that great deal to think about, Uncle,” I replied, hoping for some sort of de-escalation.</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare change the subject. As I am grateful you didn’t screw up last night or the signed deal, you do not get to speak upon such topics. This will be the last time I will tolerate something like this.”</p>
<p>Dudley had all but cowered in the living room, making a dash for it with his plate and cutlery the moment I opened my mouth. “If you let me go, then you won’t have to tolerate me for another year, and besides, you won’t want the neighbours seeing a scene with you and my friend’s mum.”</p>
<p>“This one time, boy. I will make an exception. But don’t see me get soft when this woman arrives. If she arrives.”</p>
<p>Vernon had a look of anger and relief as he said so, and I immediately leapt on out of there, putting my empty plate into the sink on my way out. Got to put those Harry Potter books in the suitcase and burn the first one. I don’t need it since I already have the memories. Tick, tick, tick, went the grandfather clock. It chimed one already, and I scoured my room for any last bit of magical items needing to go in the suitcase. On my desk, were the three letters sent by Mrs Weasley, Hermione, and Draco.</p>
<p>Mrs Weasley had agreed to pick me up and let me stay over the summer at the Burrow. Her words were truly kind and understanding. She spoke about Apparating (she vaguely explained how that worked) nearby in secret and knocking at the front door instead of by Floo powder (she also briefly explained that), as she was worried this would alarm the Muggles, and would cause some sort of mayhem. Hermione was incredibly pleased that I wrote back finally, and further angry and relieved at how the Dobby situation had gone down. She suspected Malfoy had something to do with it, and he set this whole thing up just to get me kicked out of Hogwarts. Still a naive genius. Draco was extremely pissed at the plan going to shit, ranting on about what a useless house-elf Dobby was and how he was going to make sure Dobby was punished for this. Talking about slavery at its finest. Now I <em>have</em> to calm this down. Draco mentioned later in his letter that he would try and become a better person, but this would be difficult with his father, well, being his father and all.</p>
<p>Tick, tick, tick went the grandfather clock. It chimed three, and there was a knock at the door. I was all dressed and ready to go, clutching my suitcase and Hedwig’s cage behind me. I sent Hedwig out to the Burrow, meaning I didn’t have to worry about the Side-Along Apparation affecting her.</p>
<p>“Hello, Mrs Weasley,” I said enthusiastically as I opened the door.</p>
<p>“Hello, Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley replied calmly. “Ready and packed for the rest of the summer? Ron’s been talking all about you dear, and what you got up to last year. It must’ve been awfully hard at the end of term, facing You-Know-Who’s spirit. Or so Ron tells me.” She chuckled lightly.</p>
<p>“Yes, well I’m still alive, and I would love to see Ron again.”</p>
<p>“Well, aren’t you going to say goodbye to your relatives, dear?”</p>
<p>“They aren’t the most enthusiastic about all of this, and I have already said goodbye.”</p>
<p>“I see. Come along now, Harry. Have you ever done Side-Along Apparation?”</p>
<p>There was a cold tone in that first sentence, but now everything was rushing, and I held on tight to my belongings. I yelled out goodbye one more time, with no reply, and we walked down the path to the street, away from this hell of a place. We had walked for about five minutes before reaching the same tunnel where Harry and Dudley were attacked by Dementors in book five. It was at least empty, thank fuck. “Hold on to my arm, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said, her voice echoing around us. “Don’t worry.”</p>
<p>“Ok, Mrs Weasley.”</p>
<p>I grabbed her arm obediently and was thrust into this sort of vortex where I couldn’t tell up from down. All I could do was hold tightly onto my belongings and Mrs Weasley’s arm. I felt as though I was falling, and I couldn’t deal with falling. Then, my feet landed on solid ground, me still upright and gripping everything with a ferocity. The Apparation ended as soon as it was started. I let go of Mrs Weasley’s arm, and let my eyes focus on my surroundings. The ground changed from pavement to dirt, and stood above me was a tall, seven-story house that was very crooked, and looked as if it was held up by magic. I mean, it was, but still.</p>
<p>“Not many can handle Apparation that well on their first time,” Mrs Weasley said. “Go head on in, Harry. I think Ron will be up and about now.”</p>
<p>“Alright, Mrs Weasley. Thanks for letting me stay,” I said. The front door was open, and a pool of voices trickled out from within. Several chirps and hoots echoed around me. It was either Errol, Hermes, or Hedwig. Mrs Weasley wasn’t far behind me. I pushed the door wide open, and a cheer bellowed out. “Harry!” Ron yelled out. He was with Fred and George, playing with a Quaffle.</p>
<p>“Hey Ron. Hey Fred. Hey George.”</p>
<p>“It looks like Dumbledore sent you a letter, but don’t worry, we haven’t opened it,” George said, holding up a letter. The writing was in turquoise ink, and addressed to me, at the Burrow. It was all big, wavy, and slanted ever so slightly to the left… just like mine… You could easily mistake this handwriting to be mine, but I don’t write the letter <em>r</em> like that. This isn’t supposed to be part of the plot. I’m supposed to change it, no one else. I decide the fate. What is Dumbledore up to?</p>
<p>“Thanks, George. Wh-where do I put my stuff?”</p>
<p>“Oh right, you’re staying in my room,” Ron said. “Come on, we’ll put your stuff there, then we can play a bit of football in the nearby forest paddock. Oh, and Hedwig arrived just before you did. She’s near the chicken coop with Errol and Hermes. They’re our owls. Well, Hermes is Percy’s owl because he got twelve O.W.L.s. Not that he cared. Percy’s spent the whole summer holed up in his room.”</p>
<p>“Twelve O.W.L.s?! Oh, that’s good. Ok, let’s go. I’ll read this letter later.”</p>
<p>We dragged my stuff up to the sixth floor, Ron holding Hedwig’s empty cage, me with the suitcase. It took all of three minutes, not too long but I was in stitches by the time we reached Ron’s room. It was a bright orange, the walls covered in moving Quidditch posters. The light streamed in from the large window.</p>
<p>“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Ron said.</p>
<p>“I think it’s brilliant,” I replied, putting my suitcase by the door.</p>
<p>A rush of feet behind us and a childish voice piped up for Ron. It was cut short once I turned around. A girl with flaming red hair stood in the doorframe, blushing fiercely.</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m Harry. Ron’s friend,” I said. She didn’t answer, and just ran off.</p>
<p>“That’s just Ginny. She’s usually talkative, so I don’t know what’s got into her. Besides, she’s been talking about you all summer,” Ron said, putting the owl cage next to an empty fish tank.</p>
<p>“Huh. So, you wanna go play football with Fred and George now. This is going to be fun.”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>We bombarded down the stairs and out the door, Fred, and George on our heels. We brought a Quaffle with us, and spent a good few hours playing. Me and Ron against Fred and George. It was the best fun I had in a long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Flourish and Blotts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>OC-Harry finds not everything in the Wizarding World is exactly as J.K. wrote</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am aware this is a month late, but I have been really busy with college, my mental health, and everything. I'm gonna start doing more regular updates now, and I have big plans for this fanfic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The letter was thick and heavy. The seal was freshly stamped, and the ink glistened in the bright moonlight. I don’t know why Dumbledore would want to write to me; I don’t know why our handwritings are similar, but that is one hell of a coincidence. I tore the letter from the seal, drew a two-page letter, and started to read.</p><p>
  <em> Dear Mr Harry Potter, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I expect you are wondering why I am writing to you. I have better things to do and you needn’t worry about such frivolous things as letters. But it has come to my attention that I cannot support your so-called “secret lessons” with the young Draco Malfoy. I, too, was once friends with such a person, and though I attempted many times to turn him away from the Dark Arts, all of them failed; so trust me on this to know that you cannot change a person until they can change themselves. Malfoy is, as what is also affecting this issue, the new Quidditch Seeker, and later will have less time on his hands. It may come as a surprise to you of course, but the time management is now up in the air. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Furthermore, my reference to Professor Snape seeing into your mind has possibly caused some confusion with you. Legilimency is a form of powerful magic which allows the witch or wizard to read into another person’s mind. The opposite of this is Occlumency, another form of powerful magic that allows the witch or wizard to prevent such invasions through closing the mind. It is in my best wishes that you use this knowledge wisely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You have proven yourself to be a naturally powerful sorcerer, spending your free time consuming all the knowledge there is to know about the wizarding world. Your triumphs last term were nothing short of impeccable. There are times where I wish the threats of the last War had not affected you or the countless people who had lost their lives. I wish none of this had ever happened and you could live in a loving home and live a normal life. Some have greatness thrust upon them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This year you will have a free period once a week, now you will not be taking Flying lessons anymore. Now, may I offer the lessons of Occlumency and Legilimency? It shall prove useful once Lord Voldemort rises again. With great power, comes great responsibility, Mr Potter. Trust me on this. And nothing will ever be the same again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With kind regards, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Professor Albus Dumbledore </em>
</p><p>Well, fuck me, that did not go the way I expected. I had suspicions Dumbledore had discovered my secret and knew a way to help me. Still, I’m not upset at losing those sessions. Now, I must go to those Quidditch matches. On the plus side, I’ll be learning telepathy and mind-blocking this year. Man, Dumbledore’s cryptic. And I talked to Draco about the whole house-elf slavery stuff, and he doesn’t really seem to understand it. There’s no way I could help Dobby now. And oh boy, I can’t wait for the whole S.P.E.W. thing. Wait one damn second, how the fuck did Draco get on the damn Slytherin team this early? What kinda fuckery is this? All we’ve got to do now is avoid the whole “Mudblood and Murmurs” chapter, and Hermione won’t face any stupid discrimination. Ok, so Draco hasn’t specifically said he was on the Slytherin team in his letters, but I guess there’s some sort of non-disclosure agreement involved.</p><p>Oh shit, got to sort out the whole diary being a horcrux thing. And the Basilisk. Yeah, this year ain’t going to be fun. Especially for Ginny. Does Hagrid adopt some sort of dangerous creature this year? Apart from Aragog (avoiding that like the plague), I think we’re safe. No Blast-Ended Skrewts until Year 10. Do wizards have magic primary school? Still, finding out there were assistant teachers at Hogwarts was wild. Explains a lot really. The number of students at Hogwarts is unbelievable. I mean there’s a whole other fucking dorm room in the Gryffindors’ boy’s dormitory tower for our year. An extra five damn people. Mr Weasley said there used to be three to four dorms in our tower, but that I just don’t believe. Twenty people for each house in my year is enough. Eighty people in total and times that by seven and you get four hundred and twenty people. Hold on, that doesn’t add up. I’ve seen a shit ton more people in years 11 through 13 than any other year. Like those population sizes are literal doubles of any of the younger years.</p><p>And just remember, in the Chamber of Secrets, grab as many Basilisk fangs as you can get. Necessary for killing the other Horcruxes easier and could make quite a dime on the market. If I can’t sell them, test them out in potions, Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts for “experimental purposes”. Try different shit out and create new things.</p><p> </p><p>The sunlight hit me square in the face. Bright cunt. New day, and it’s only six am. I hate summer. The whole house was silent except for the moaning and groaning of the ghoul, and the squeaking of Scabbers- I meant Wormtail. Oh right, blackmail that little fucker until the end of third year. I have no choice but to let him go, because I need this timeline to stay as clean as possible. I’ve fucked up too much by becoming friends with Draco Malfoy, and I’m too afraid of what might happen. Just internal unbridled anxiety of the future. Even more confirmation not to take Divination next year. Scabbers was eating in his cage, I think. Everything is too blurry. I reached for my glasses, and when I got my 20/20 vision back, the scene was as I expected. Scabbers was just munching down on some chicken. Chubby fucker. Thank the heavens his cage was right next to me, so I didn’t have to move. Remember, don’t cast Muffliato; you can’t do magic outside of school yet.</p><p>“Hey,” I whispered at the rat. He walked over to the side of the cage facing me, holding chicken in his mouth. “Hey, yeah, you. That food looks good doesn’t it? Mrs Weasley does the best cooking. It would be a real shame if she knew what happened that night. You know what I’m talking about. You sold them out. You framed him, and abandoned him. You’re a rat, and I don’t mean that literally.”</p><p>He froze immediately. A coldness whirled around, and his eyes widened with untapped fear that hadn’t been seen since almost 11 years ago.</p><p>“No shit honey,  I know who you are, Wormtail. I know everything that has happened and will happen. I am a god, and you will listen to me very closely. I will not betray you like you betrayed my parents. I just want to know. Why? What in Godsgrave led you down that path? You have until the end of today to give me an answer on paper. Leave it under my pillow. Don’t screw this up for us, or the Dark Lord will fall sooner rather than later. Nod if you understand me.”</p><p>He nodded slowly, the fear setting quickly in his face. The answer would come sooner than later. Today, the Weasleys and I would head on down to Diagon Alley, probably ending up as a day trip. Five hours should roughly. Avoid Lockhart at all costs. It'll just fuel his ego, and there'll be too much embarrassment looking back on this. Good thing there's only two of his books on the reading list instead of all of them. I don't know why the school board would compromise future generations' education because of some famous bimbo. Those other books I think come in cheap, so the whole Weasleys-being-poor thing is out of the window. Why the fuck would J.K. sacrifice children's education for some blond haired narcissist with an ego as big as a planet to end up in the magic hospital? That plot point is so fucking stupid.</p><p>***</p><p>We were all standing by the fireplace ready to head into Diagon Alley. After a quick couple bacon sandwiches each, I grabbed my money purse, mentioning it to Mr and Mrs Weasley just before we headed out after they brought up the topic of money. No embarrassment in Gringotts. Original Harry is the stupidest fucking person ever.</p><p>“It is going to be a little expensive to afford everything on the booklist and Ginny’s new robes and wand and everything, but I think we can make it work,” Mrs Weasley said. “It’s a good thing Lockhart’s books don’t take up the entire book list otherwise I wouldn’t know why Dumbledore or the school board would allow it. ”</p><p>“Well, yes, but let’s hurry up now. I’ve heard Gilderoy Lockhart’s doing a meet-and-greet at Flourish and Blotts at 12:30, and I want to get the schoolbooks before the swarms of fans crowd the shop,” Mr Weasley huffed disappointedly. Definitely agree.</p><p>“Harry, why don’t you go first?” Mrs Weasley asked me, gesturing to the pot in her hand.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” I said puzzlingly.</p><p>“Oh right, I’m sorry Harry, I forgot,” Ron exclaimed suddenly. Ah yes, the Floo powder.</p><p>“Don’t worry Harry, we’ll go first,” Fred said, and the twins grabbed a pinch of the dust inside, threw it into the blazing fire and stepped inside.</p><p>“Remember to say your destination loud and clear,” Mrs Weasley said.</p><p>“Yeah, we know, mum,” George yelled. “Diagon Alley!”</p><p>The green flames grew higher and the twins vanished behind it.</p><p>“You must speak clearly, dear,” Mrs Weasley said to me. “And mind you get out of the right grate.”</p><p>“The right what?” I asked.</p><p>“There are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, but if you’ve spoken clearly-”</p><p>“He’ll be fine, Molly,” Mr Weasley said, taking a pinch of Floo powder.</p><p>“Well then, how will we be able to explain to his aunt and uncle if he ever got lost? I doubt they’ll be sad, but Harry is Petunia’s only nephew.”</p><p>“I don’t think Aunt Petunia would really care,” I tried to reassure them. “I think I know how to do it.”</p><p>I grabbed a bit of Floo powder from the pot, threw it into the flames, and stepped forward. It was sort of warm, but cold at the same time. “Diagon Alley,” I said loudly, coughing as I breathed in a shit ton of ash. Now I’m just damn thirsty. The floor seemed to open up and I fell down what looked like a dark tunnel. I closed my eyes to stop the dust from getting in. Dear god, that always hurts. The fire wrapped around me, dragging me up and down, the cold air swirling under my feet. I’m going to throw up if this doesn’t end soon enough. Squinting through my glasses, I saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and rooms… at this point, they just look like a mess of a colour palette. The fire then immediately rushed behind me, and pushed me onto a cobblestone floor. At least my glasses didn’t shatter this time. Now, where the fuck are we?</p><p>“Hey, kid, are you alright?” a voice yelled from right beside me. Don’t let this be Knockturn Alley… Don’t let this be Knockturn Alley… “Come on, that looked like a rough fall.”</p><p>The voice’s hands grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me up from the floor. Out from the fireplace stepped the rest of the Weasleys into a bright room. There were tables and chairs everywhere, and many of them had drinks set on them. Definitely The Leaky Cauldron. Thank fuck.</p><p>“Thanks for helping Harry here,” Mr Weasley said, shaking the young man’s hand who the voice belonged to. His hair was a dirty blonde, and it looked like he had heterochromia - one blue eye and one really light grey eye. Weird combination. He wore square-framed glasses, and was not much taller than Arthur himself</p><p>“It’s my pleasure Mr Weasley,” the man said. “Just trying to make my father proud.”</p><p>“You look really familiar,” I said slowly, still trying to collect myself from what just happened.</p><p>“I get that a lot,” the blond-haired man said to me. “Ikelos Merlin. 4th year Ravenclaw. Specialty: History of Magic. But I'm best known for my Duelling skills.”</p><p>“Ikelos?? Like that Greek God? Who's brother is Morpheus?” Since when were there crossovers?</p><p>“Yeah, my dad was Ares and my grandfather is Loki. It’s a bit of a tradition.”</p><p>“Ares Merlin? Mad-Eye always spoke highly of him,” Mr Weasley said. “It’s a shame what happened.”</p><p>“I know. I live with my grandfather now, and these days, I think he’s going a bit senile.”</p><p>“But you look really familiar, though,” I said, racking my brain. An Ares Merlin? An Ikelos Merlin? They were never in the books or the movies. What the fuck J.K? What is happening?</p><p>“I should probably clear this up... I am not related to Gellert Grindelwald. Even though I look like him. And I am not affiliated with the Dark Arts. Trust me on this.”</p><p>“You must be pretty lonely then.”</p><p>“Not really, I've only got a good friend. You should meet him sometime.”</p><p>“Come on, we’ve got to get going,” Mr Weasley said, hushing me out of the back doors into the back alley where the entrance to Diagon Alley.</p><p>“See you ‘round, then?” I said to Ikelos before being whisked away doing the street.</p><p>“See you ‘round,” he replied, walking to the bar. He winked once.</p><p> </p><p>Diagon Alley was bustling with all sorts of wizards, witches, and even a few sorcerers chatting outside the Quidditch shop. I think Hermione and her parents must’ve joined us at some point in the pub, because they were walking with us up to Gringotts bank. The shining white pillars were surreal in the light of the sun. Mr Weasley was all excited at the fact that Mrs Granger had brought a few quid with her to change up at Gringotts. Mildly surprised not all of those who work at Gringotts are goblins. Still sounds anti-semitic, but at least this universe is spicing up a bit on the diversity instead of bending over backwards for the TERF creator that is J.K. Rowling.</p><p>“Hey Hermione,” I said. “Hi Mr and Mrs Granger.”</p><p>“Hey Harry,” Hermione said.</p><p>“Hello, you must be one of Hermione’s friends she was talking about over the summer,” Mr Granger replied. “Hermione’s been very excited to return to Hogwarts and talk with you and Ron again in person.”</p><p>“Yeah, Hermione’s great. She’s the best in our year, and is very clever.”</p><p>“Harry, you’re way better than I am,” Hermione muttered and smiled a bit.</p><p>“No, you really are good. And you’re more than my friend. You’re more like a sister to me. I respect your smarts.”</p><p>“Well, lucky, our Hermione has a wonderful friend,” Mrs Granger chuckled. “You’re a good person.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>There was no one at the front doors of the bank this time, and Hermione and her parents stopped at one of the registers to change up the money. I stayed behind while the Weasleys were whisked away to their vault (how many vaults were there??) by a young goblin. The woman behind the counter sorted the notes and the coins into Sickles and Galleons before handing them to the Grangers. “This place still gives me the chills,” Hermione whispered next to me.</p><p>“Because it’s massive??” I asked, looking up at the high ceiling.</p><p>“Because magic is still so weird. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”</p><p>“We’ll get there. Together. Ron will help us.”</p><p>Back up on the marble steps, everyone began to separate. Percy muttered something about getting one or two of those new colour-changing pencils; Fred and George spotted Lee; Mrs Weasley and Ginny were heading off to the second-hand clothes shop; and Mr Weasley had asked the Grangers for a drink and a chat at the Leaky Cauldron.</p><p>“We’ll meet outside Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books,” said Mrs Weasley, setting off with Ginny. So, it’s 11 right now, and a good thing that completely misses the whole Lockhart scenario. For a while me, Ron, and Hermione spent a good while at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, going a large ice cream each while the two listened and chime in on my full explanation on what had happened earlier that summer. “It’s better if you hear it in person, guys, cause I really suspect something is up,” I said in between licks.</p><p>“It was definitely Malfoy. He’s really weird, and the worst bully,” Ron said.</p><p>“I doubt someone our age is trying to get you out of Hogwarts, Harry,” Hermione retorted lightly.</p><p>“I think I should listen to Dobby though. What if something does happen this year?”</p><p>“I don’t think it’ll be that bad. Oh, I really hope Ginny’s in Gryffindor like the rest of us. Percy said when he was talking to the Sorting Hat in The Sorting Ceremony, the Hat couldn’t decide whether to put him in Slytherin or Gryffindor. Same with Fred. They were both Hatstalls.”</p><p>“I had the same experience. Except it was between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. But since I value friendship and courage more than gaining knowledge at all costs, the Hat put me in Gryffindor.”</p><p>“Oh, I hope Ginny’s in Gryffindor. But I kinda see her in Slytherin though,” I said.</p><p>“Really?” Ron replied with a weirded expression on his face. “It’’ll be kinda weird to see my sister in the same house as Malfoy.”</p><p>“I doubt they’ll even interact.”</p><p> </p><p>After a good half an hour in the Ice Cream Parlour, we traversed the land that was Diagon Alley, collecting school equipment such as paper, parchment, pens, pencils, quills, ink, and a bunch of potion ingredients that I will experiment on to see if I can duplicate them without them losing their magical properties. Ron found Percy in a little bookshop off to the side, immersed in some book about prefects’ lives after Hogwarts. It sounded boring, but Hermione was very interested.</p><p>“I think I could be a good Prefect someday,” Hermione said proudly.</p><p>“The job does come with its perks, Hermione,” Percy said, flashing off his shiny Prefects Badge.</p><p>“Do you think you’ll become Head Boy next year Percy?” I asked, glancing over to a book on Animagi. Well, I’m totally buying that.</p><p>“Oh, I hope so. That’s a high honour right there,” he said, a little too smugly. Can't wait for his redemption arc in book 7 though. Bet he was under the Imperius Curse since the middle of Goblet of Fire. He would not betray his family like that.</p><p>I picked up the book and quickly flicked through the pages. It was all about becoming an Animagus. Absolutely perfect. Voldy doesn’t arrive until the end of 4th year, and the whole Mandrake subplot is excellent timing. Percy bought his book on prefects, and I quickly bought the Animagi book without anyone looking. I just want to transform into an animal, goddamnit. And I can show Ikelos and his friend it too. I have this gut feeling they’ll be important later on.</p><p>A half hour later, we were outside Flourish and Blotts. And it’s crowded. Jesus Christ, did they change it by half an hour? There was a large crowd justling into the shop. And there was a large banner stretched across the upper windows:</p><p>
  <em> GILDEROY LOCKHART </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will be signing copies of his autobiography </em>
</p><p>MAGICAL ME</p><p>
  <em> Today 12 - 4 pm </em>
</p><p>Oh, damn, they really did change it. The fuck is up with this plot? Stupid plot convenience trying to get me to interact with Lockhart before Hogwarts. And the majority of the crowd looked to be made up of women (and a few men) of Mrs Weasley’s age. A tired-looking wizard stood at the door saying, “Calm down, please, people… don’t push, there… mind the books, now...”</p><p>We had to squeeze in past all the people to get to stand by one of the bookshelves where the Weasleys and Hermione’s parents were. I don’t know how I got roped into this. And I think we’re in a line leading up to a large desk table at the front. “There you are, kids,” Mr Weasley said. “It’s a real shame we couldn’t miss this event. I guess they must’ve changed the time last minute. Or I must’ve misheard.”</p><p>Lockhart slowly came into view, all bright blond curls and flashing teeth that were as white as an American’s. The table had large self-portraits of him in fancy-ass robes, and a space in the middle for signing. There lay a bloody peacock’s feather quill, and what looked like some decent ass ink. Twat. A slightly irritated photographer already standing at the front started taking photos for whatever newspaper he was for. Since he was here before everyone else, he was probably for the Daily Prophet.</p><p>“Hello, hello,” Lockhart snobbishly said. “Welcome to my <em> meet-and-greet </em> . I am of course the infamous Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five times winner of <em> Witch Weekly’s </em> Most-Charming-Smile Award. Today, I am not only announcing the release of my autobiography, <em> Magical Me </em>… I have important news about my quest for the coming academic year. By request of Dumbledore himself of Hogwarts, I shall be the next Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at our most famous school in the north, starting in September. I cannot tell you how honoured I am to take on this job…”</p><p>He continued on for another five minutes twittering on about some random bullshit he claimed to have done, while I began grabbing myself three copies of every book that was on the shelves, with the exception being that I had to grab a few Grade 1 books for Ginny. It was completely unnecessary for me to get any Grade 2 or 3 books. So I just grabbed a good few Grade 4 and 5 books. Like, I found Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Alchemy, Potions, Divination (not like I’m going to need it), Astronomy, and History books. And there were several fiction books that I found written by wizards and witches. So, I got like three. I got so many books. Ron and Hermione both helped by carrying their own books, and I gave one of the fiction books to Hermione as an early birthday present. It was a tragedy involving a young wizard falling in love with a Muggle, and trying to fulfill a dangerous destiny. I don’t really know, I just read the blurb. Good thing my book pile covered my face, as I had to walk past Lockhart’s signing to the counter with Ron and Hermione to pay for the books. And Jesus Christ was it expensive. 15 damn Galleons. Trust me, that’s a lot. Wasn’t my wand like only half the price? And in Muggle money, my wand would’ve cost something around fifty or sixty quid.</p><p>“Thanks for paying for this, Harry,” Ron said. “Ginny’s going to be really excited about owning her very own books for once.”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks. I don’t think Mum and Dad had enough money to pay for all this,” Hermione said, giving me a thumbs up.</p><p>“My parents left me a lot of money guys, and I wanted to do something with all that money. I didn’t know the Wizarding World did fiction books,” I replied. “Hey, Mrs Weasley, I got Ginny some textbooks for school. I think it will go a long way for her education.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to do that, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said kindly. “But thank you. Ginny and I will be very grateful for this help.”</p><p>Percy, Fred, and George were at the counter at the back of the counter, paying for their books, and Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ginny, and Mr and Mrs Granger were by the door talking to Hagrid. Most of the crowd were huddled in the middle of the shop, so getting around them was a little hard. It’s a good fucking thing Lockhart didn’t see me.</p><p>“Oh, look who’s here. The famous Harry Potter. You’ve even got yourself a girlfriend,” a snide voice said at the top of the stairs.</p><p>“What does that even mean, Malfoy?” I retorted tiredly. “If you’re going to insult me, at least do it properly.”</p><p>“Lucky Lockhart didn't see you, otherwise who knows how that wanker was going to react.”</p><p>“No need to make such snide remarks in a public place, Draco,” Lucius Malfoy said in a dull tone. He entered the shop, walking towards Draco. “Come along, we don’t need to spend any time with such… people.” He threw a look of disgust at the Weasleys, before grabbing Draco’s shoulder and walking up to the counter, an aura of corrupt superiority clouding him. Draco glanced panickingly quickly, then brushing it off, and rolled his eyes ever so slightly as he strood past me.</p><p>“Honestly,” he whispered.</p><p>“Your dad’s arrogant,” I replied quietly.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“We have very different meanings of such people, Lucius. And this time, figure out which side you’re on,” Mr Weasley said loudly.</p><p>“Clearly. I already know I'm on the side that'll win,” Lucius said coldly. He never looked back.</p><p>“It’s better if we leave before you two start any fights like school rivals,” Mrs Weasley said calmly. About time too. Ginny walked past me holding her cauldron full of books, and I swear I saw a plain, small black book stuffed in one of the sides. That’s some serious talent, getting the diary in before anyone notices.</p><p>“Yeh best head out before the crowds do, guys,” Hagrid said. “And I’ve gotta get some Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent before it gets dark.”</p><p>“See yah, Hagrid,” I called out while stepping out onto the blazing hot street. There was no shadow of a cloud in the sky, and the sun was just roaring it out. I hate summer. Back at the Leaky Cauldron, me and Ron said our goodbyes to Hermione and her parents, with Arthur quickly discussing Muggle stuff with Hermione’s parents before letting them walk through the front door to Muggle London. The fire was magically lit again, and I further endured one or two minutes of feeling like I was falling down a tunnel while also clutching onto my plethora of books and a bag full of the other school equipment and stuff. Should’ve brought an over-the-shoulder enchanted bag to carry everything. Oh well, too late now. Pettigrew better have a good fucking answer for me now. Yes, I shall be blackmailing a rat for about two years. Deal with it. No, I will not be turning him in. I don’t like uncertainty in my life.</p><p>***</p><p>Tick, tock, went the clock on the wall. It echoed throughout the house, chiming midnight. Cage in hand, I crept down the stairs, hoping they wouldn’t creak. Only barely. My feet shuffled across the kitchen floor as I held out my hand to grab the back door handle; Pettigrew was too terrified to make a sound. Creak went the door, and I slowly walked across the lawn to the chicken pen. I held a letter in my hand, and under the cover of the moon, I opened the cage. Pettigrew scurried out. Under the threat of my wand, he changed back into a human. Short, with scraggly mousy brown hair, and a thin scar running down his cheek. His clothes were ripped and dark, and he wasn’t exactly thin, per se. “What is the point of this?” He slowly asked.</p><p>“I want to form an alliance… with you.”</p><p>“Why? Where did you get that sort of information? How do you know so much?”</p><p>“You’re going to resurrect Voldemort through cowardice. You’re extremely machiavellian, and I know the other Marauders or anyone else treated you kindly. You were angry and scared. I’m a Seer. I control the future, no one else. This is my perfect victory.”</p><p>“You make a good Ravenclaw and Death Eater. And you’re wrong. James, Sirius, and Remus saw me as an equal. Lily was a good friend. You have her eyes. But they’re cold now. I only turned bad because I was underestimated endlessly. I’m good at Astronomy. There’s nothing as beautiful, cold, and dark as the night sky.”</p><p>“I agree. Endless…</p><p>I want to know. Was James a bully? What about Snape?”</p><p>“James was stereotypical. He was a great Chaser, and could be hot-headed. But he treated everyone with kindness and respect. That’s what won Lily over finally. Severus’s rivalry against James was one-sided, but sometimes James snapped.”</p><p>“I won’t tell anyone you’re an Animagus, as long as you stay in hiding. Then I don’t have to deal with Voldemort for at least two years.”</p><p>“As long Padfoot doesn’t escape, I won’t. I can’t face him.”</p><p>“I know. Do you know anything about an Ares or Loki Merlin? I’ve never heard of them.”</p><p>“Some say Loki Merlin was Gellert Grindelwald’s son, but fled Bulgaria to hide from him. I don’t believe Grindelwald was empathetic enough to raise a child. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>He changed back into his Animagus form, and scurried back into the cage. The moon was full, and Polaris shone brightly next to it. A streak of blue light scoured across the night sky. It looked a little blocky to me. Unlike normal meteors.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Sorting Ceremony 2: Electric Boogaloo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Oh boy, does Harry need to keep up with the ever changing plot that fails to keep to the strict canon with the books!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologise for the lateness of this chapter. College got in the way, but hopefully, I will manage out a damn schedule by book 3. Hope you like  this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rest of the summer holidays went by in a blur. Every day there was something new to experience. Mr Weasley was very knowledgeable about the Muggle world, and so were the Weasley children, whether they wanted to or not. Pettigrew and I didn’t have another conversation, and Ginny still acted very shy around me. Draco wrote less, and talked almost completely about Quidditch.</p><p>The last night of the summer, we had a grand roast dinner, which was rounded off with Fred and George setting a couple Filibuster fireworks, lighting up the living room with greens and reds. At last, it was time for a cup of hot chocolate and heading off to bed. It took a long while for me and Ron to pack up the last of our stuff, and I made sure that every one of the books I had collected was safely tucked into my suitcase, taking up a quarter of the space in it. And that’s not including the Harry Potter books. The moonlight once again hit my eyes through the cracks in the curtains. It was high in the sky, and there was nothing that could get me to sleep. I had been here almost a year now, and I can still hear my father’s voice whispering in my ear when I’m alone. Sometimes it would catch me off guard while I was playing a Quidditch game with Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny who would occasionally join. This reality is becoming less of a dream the more I stay here. My old life… was it real? Did it exist at all? Does this reality exist? Am I dead? Why do existential crises hit hard at night? Everything is pain, and I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here, even if it takes seven years.</p><p>The next morning was pretty hectic even though everyone was up by the crack of dawn. Mrs Weasley was in a bad mood, dashing about the house for spare socks, robes, and quills; people kept bumping into one another in the hallways and staircases with bits of toast still in their hands. Mr Weasley almost broke his neck tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny’s suitcase into the car. “Ginny, don’t forget that diary of yours,” I yelled as I helped Mr Weasley pack the six suitcases into the boot. “Fred, George, don’t forget those fireworks and broomsticks.”</p><p>“Right, mustn’t forget those,” George yelled while sprinting back up the staircase to his room. Three minutes later, he chucked the box of fireworks Fred had given him and his Comet 360 into the boot as well.</p><p>“Not a word to Molly,” Mr Weasley whispered to me and George. “Ingenious inventions, cars.”</p><p>By the time we were all in the car, Mrs Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and I were sitting comfortably side by side, and said, “Muggles <em> do </em> know more than we give them credit for, don’t they?” She and Ginny got into the passenger seat which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. “I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?”</p><p>Mr Weasley started up the engine and we drove out of the yard. It was seven thirty in the morning when we left, and the summer sun was already high up in the sky. We sat through a couple mild traffic jams, but that was it for the entirety of the three hour drive from The Burrow to Kings Cross Station. At ten, we reached the station, calmly pushing our trunks to platform 9 and ¾.</p><p>“Percy first,” Mrs Weasley said, looking at the clock overhead every so often. Percy strode head first through the barrier, then it was Mr Weasley, and Fred and George closely followed. Mrs Weasley then went through the barrier with Ginny, helping her push her trunk through. I made sure Hedwig’s cage was safely wedged on top of my trunk and me and Ron both wheeled our trunks at the barrier. I prayed it didn’t close. It was too early for this, and I don’t want to deal with flying a car or sending a letter to McGonagall. We slowly ran towards the barrier, my eyes closing at the last second to not face any embarrassment, when…</p><p>Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened until Ron elbowed me. “Why’d you close your eyes? We’re on the platform.”</p><p>“Oh, I… wasn’t expecting that.”</p><p>“Well, what were you expecting? Mum and Dad are over there. Let’s find Hermione’s compartment, if she’s here yet.”</p><p>Lee was holding a box, with its lid half-open, talking with Fred and George in one apartment, exclaiming he had a tarantula and was planning to show a bunch of kids. George kept waving one of those fireworks around. I hope he doesn’t set it off in their compartment. Not a big enough space. The corridor echoed with a few laughter, ringing out in the silence that occupied the space in between the far-off voices. We were passed by running children on our increasingly stagnant search of finding Hermione, Ron dragged his trunk behind him while I gripped the back of it to decrease our chances of getting hit on the shins.</p><p>“Hey, I think she’s over here,” he pointed out to the second to last compartment in the carriage. Bushy hair could be seen on the other side of the window, whirling about swiftly. A wand was being waved casually as hands dragged a trunk up onto the rails overhead. Breath escaped my mouth as some tension was lifted off of my shoulders. No one will get hurt this year. And I’ll be less controlling of the timeline this time. I’ve come to notice I may not have been nice last year. I don’t know. Ron and Hermione are their own characters.</p><p>“Yay, Hermione’s here!” I exclaimed softly. The drumming of the trunk wheels against the carpeted floor hummed in our ears as we rushed towards the compartment, grinning slightly and thinking of sweets and trash-talking on Lockhart. That was delayed when a hand gripped my free arm and a familiar voice rang loudly in my ears.</p><p>“Hey kid,” Ikelos said loudly. “Hepht and I here were just talking about you, kiddo.”</p><p>“Ike, let go of the damn kid,” another voice spoke out from the compartment Ikelos’ arm was sticking out from. The kid next to Ikelos looked mature and had dark brown wavy hair that was pushed out of his face. A scar ran horizontally down his jaw, and his eyes were a pale hazel. And there was one more person in that compartment. She was looking out the window, and looked almost identical to the boy with the scar. Except for her eyes. In the reflection of the window, her eyes were a piercing black. That’s what it seemed like from afar, but as I drew nearer, I saw they were more of a dark chocolate. I would do anything for this kid. </p><p>“This is my mate. Hephaestus, and his younger sister, Cassie. Short for Cassandra,” Ikelos broke the silence at last, while Ron quickly sprinted up to the compartment door, gave me a thumbs up and then ran back. Can’t believe I was dragged into this.</p><p>“Me and Ike share the same dorm, and young Cassie here is starting this year,” Hephaestus smiled and pointed a finger at the girl. “I’m hoping she’ll become a Ravenclaw just like me and Dad and Grandpa.”</p><p>“I know I’ll be. I can see it,” Cassie replied hastily. “And I can see you and Ike stealing food from the kitchens tonight as well.”</p><p>“It’s not technically stealing since the elves and us are on good terms.”</p><p>“How do you know if you’re going to be in Ravenclaw? You could be in Hufflepuff for all you know,” I said, sitting down next to her.</p><p>“I can see me and the Hat having a talk between whether I should be in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Eventually, it’ll put me in Ravenclaw.”</p><p>“But how can you see? It’s only a prediction.”</p><p>“That’s because it is. I have the third eye. Don’t you know anything about Greek Mythology, or do you only know the men?”</p><p>“Cassandra the seer? The one where one of the gods made it so no one would believe her predictions ever again?”</p><p>“Yes, exactly like that. Only the few who can see past the beyond have the power to believe me. All three of you boys here have that power.”</p><p>“Bit strange,” commented Hephaestus.</p><p>“Oh boy, are our parents obsessed with European mythology,” Ike said in a sarcastic manner. “You Dumbledore folk really are all that weird and loony.”</p><p>“Hey! Not like Albus Dumbledore. He’s the only crazy one.”</p><p>“Hold up? Dumbledore? How? What the actual f happened?”</p><p>“We’re a perfectly normal family, Harry. Ariana Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore’s sister, had an okay life. She was a Ravenclaw, as was her brother Aberforth; got married young, and had a kid. Grandad rarely spoke about it, and Dad usually got quiet whenever we asked.”</p><p>“Nothing bad happened? No Muggles? The father going to prison for anything?” I asked curiously, paying absolute attention. There had to be something. Something that would finally stick to the actual plot of the books. Why would it change?</p><p>“What are you talking about? Where on earth did you read that from?” Hephaestus said, the tension in his voice rising. </p><p>“Woah! Woah!” I blurted out. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry. I must’ve gotten it wrong.”</p><p>I jumped up from my seat, shaking slightly, and went to pay my dues with these strange people before Cassie tugged at my sleeve. I think she wanted to talk.</p><p>“Wait, I have something that I need to tell you. I can see something… You’re going to die. And not once either. But… there’s so many. I think you know too. You have a hero’s complex, and it’ll hurt,” she spoke in a hushed whisper next to my ear.</p><p>“Doesn’t everyone die some day?” I whispered back, so only she could hear. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sorry.”</p><p>As I walked out of the compartment, dragging my trunk behind me, I gave a wave and an awkward smile to Ike, Hephaestus, and Cassie. They can’t be real. It’s too much. Aaaannddd, I think I’ll have to give an apology to Hephaestus later. Too awkward to turn back now. I’m not having another person with a grudge against me. Not after the last time.</p><p>“Hiya, Harry,” Ron and Hermione said, as I walked into their compartment and started to put my trunk on the rack overhead.</p><p>“Sorry that took too long,” I replied. “I meet a guy once, and suddenly I’m friends with him and his mates.”</p><p>“I don’t know what it is about that guy, but I’ve got a bad feeling about him,” Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate frog. “It’s probably nothing.”</p><p>“Are we talking about the blond boy in the compartment down the corridor?” Hermione asked quizzically.</p><p>“Oh yeah, his name is Ike and his friends are Hephaestus and Cassie. They’re Ravenclaws, and Cassie is in Ginny’s year. She said she’s going to be a Ravenclaw.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s quite interesting,” Hermione remarked. “ I liked the book, Harry. Thanks.”</p><p>“That’s alright. So how long do you think this train ride is going to be.”</p><p>***</p><p>I think I fucked this universe up. I royally fucked up this time, and there’s no going back. The checklist is long gone (<em> terrible commitment issues, I know </em>), and I’m really trying not to break this quill. Let me explain.</p><p>It all started back at the Sorting Ceremony, as we had all gotten in our seats. That little convo with Hephaestus on apologies turned out alright. A little touch of communication there. McGonagall then introduced the first-years, Ginny’s flaming hair standing out from the crowd (and a couple other, less noticeable, first years), and started calling out the names and holding the Sorting Hat. Luna had starry eyes, and got put into Ravenclaw almost immediately. She almost pranced to the Ravenclaw table. Cassie ended up being a Hatstall, so that surprised me. How rare are seers in this community of wizards and witches and sorcerers? In the end, she did end up in Ravenclaw like she said. Ike and Hephaestus were extremely cheerful about that. I hope Luna and Cassie become friends. They did sit together, so that’s a hopeful start. The sky was already full of an inky blackness and bright stars. It had been a long time since I ate those Cauldron Cakes. No grand entrance or anything. No Whomping Willow or late hot summer vibes. Soon enough, it was Ginny’s turn. This is where everything changed. I don’t how and I don’t know why, but this just cost me everything. It almost turned into a Hatstall. It really did. And I’ll never forget the word coming out of the Sorting Hat’s mouth. “Slytherin!” It yelled out. Oh no…</p><p>The Weasley brothers had stopped their joyous conversations throughout the entire event. Faces grave, Ginny’s even more so. She hid her crying face as she ran to the Slytherin table. There were few cheers. The Weasley brothers didn’t utter a single word between them for the rest of the night, and Ron couldn’t bare to look me in the eye. On the far end of the Great Hall, Draco was patting Ginny’s back, talking to her. I think Pansy was also consoling her. Jesus Christ, what have I done to deserve this? She should be a Gryffindor like the rest of her family!  She can’t be even more alone than she already was the original first year. I swear to God, this year can't get any worse.</p><p>I’ve had enough for now. Too much. Everything was too much. Every time I try and control something, another thing blows out of proportion. I- I-... You know what. Fine. If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be. I can’t do anything right.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Gilderoy Lockhart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day, however, was normal. It was perfectly normal, thank you very much. It all started at breakfast in the Great Hall, when Ron and I sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had her copy of the <em> Voyages with Vampires </em>propped up against a milk jug.</p><p>“Morning,” she said, sort of cheerfully.</p><p>"Morning,” we said in unison. I grabbed a couple slices of toast, while Ron reached for the porridge.</p><p>“Hi, guys,” Neville said optimistically, sitting next to Hermione and grabbing the cereal. “Post’s due any minute - I think Gran’s sending on a couple things I forgot.”</p><p>Sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the Hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big lumpy package landed in front of Neville. Then, a large grey owl fell into a milk jug over at the Slytherin table. Oh… Right…</p><p>It was Errol, and attached to his leg was a small white letter, definitely to Ginny. She was looking better than the evening before, slowly eating some toast and talking to a Ravenclaw girl. I think it was Cassie.</p><p>“Really wish she wasn’t put in Slytherin,” Ron said miserably. His mood was considerably dampened once he looked over at the Slytherin table. “Look who’s sitting next to her as well.”</p><p>“What? The Ravenclaw girl?” Hermione asked, turning her head to see what he was talking about.</p><p>“No, no. It’s Malfoy,” he hissed. “Who does he think he is, talking to my sister?!”</p><p>“Alright calm down children,” a friendly voice said from behind us. Standing over us was Ike, and Hephaestus. “Hi, I’m Ike. This is Hephaestus. I see you’re staring over at Cassie and that red-head. And it seems you and the rich boy over there have a grudge.”</p><p>“Malfoy is just like his father,” George interrupted. “He’s a Slytherin. They can all go to hell. Not Ginny though. She’s a good kid.”</p><p>“Everyone knows Slytherin’s the bad house,” I said.</p><p>“But Ginny’s not like that. She’s so nice,” Hermione said, book in one hand and spoon in the other.</p><p>“Yeah. And annoying,” Ron said.</p><p>“How do you think Mum and Dad are going to react to this?” Fred said, leaning over to grab a cereal box. “Four generations of Gryffindors, and now our sister is in the rival house. This is ridiculous.”</p><p>“Hey.” Oliver Wood rushed over, with a blonde Gryffindor girl. It didn’t look like he overheard our conversation. “Fred, George, first Quidditch practice is probably next Saturday morning. You remember too, Erin. I'll try and get the pitch booked before the Slytherins do.”</p><p>The blonde girl, Erin, waved to the rest of us. “Hey, guys,” was the only thing she said.</p><p>“It’s going to be right after breakfast, so don’t be late,” Oliver said.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s not like us to be late,” Fred joked.</p><p>“But seriously,” he replied. “This year could be the year we win the Quidditch House Cup for a second year.”</p><p>He turned away, talking Quidditch tactics with Erin, who seemed to be just listening intently.</p><p>“Do you know what lessons we have today?” I asked.</p><p>“Professor McGonagall’s handing out timetables right now, idiot,” Ron chuckled, now scoffing down pieces of toast and jam. As it so happened, we had Double Herbology with Hufflepuffs, then Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws and the assistant teacher, Professor Killian. Wow, isn’t this universe hell? Why are there assistant teachers? Why can’t I go with the flow of an unpredictable world? Anyway, wait, god fucking damn it. Defence Against the Dark Arts with Lockhart after lunch.</p><p> </p><p>Ron, Hermione, and I walked out of the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch and made for the greenhouses. As we neared them, we saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. We had just joined them, when she came striding into view across the lawn. Unaccompanied. I guess Lockhart was teaching. “Greenhouse Three today, chaps!” She said cheerfully. There was a murmur of interest since we had only worked in Greenhouse One. Greenhouse Three housed far more exciting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her keychain and unlocked the door. There was a thick waft of earth and fertiliser, mingling with the heavy perfume of some of the huge plants dangling from the ceiling. I followed Ron and Hermione inside, sort of waiting for Lockhart to grab me by the shoulder. It was in the back of my mind, but still… Nothing happened. Professor Sprout stood behind a trestle bench in the centre of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-coloured earmuffs were lying on the bench. When I took my place between my friends, she said, “We will be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”</p><p>Hermione’s hand was first in the air. “Mandrake, or Mandragora is a powerful restorative,” she said automatically, like a textbook. “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”</p><p>“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” said Professor Sprout. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”</p><p>Hermione’s hand narrowly missed my glasses as it shot up again. “The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears,” she said promptly.</p><p>“Precisely. Take another ten points,” Professor Sprout said. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”</p><p>She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in colour, were growing there in rows. They looked unremarkable at first glance, but I knew better. Good foreshadowing. <em> The Chamber of Secrets </em> was always my second-favourite book, right after <em> The Goblet of Fire </em>. I guess I like a good mystery.</p><p>“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” Professor Sprout said. There was a scrabble as everyone tried to seize a pair that didn’t look matted or dusty. </p><p>“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are <em> completely </em> covered,” Professor Sprout explained. “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right - earmuffs <em> on </em>.”</p><p>I snapped the earmuffs over my ears, realising shortly after that they shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put on her own earmuffs, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the plants firmly, and pulled hard. A gasp no one could hear escaped my mouth as I saw what was buried beneath the soil. Some things are always surprising. A small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing out of its head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of its lungs. Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying it in the dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave us all the thumbs up and removed her own earmuffs.</p><p>“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,” she said calmly. “However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I’ll attract your attention when it is time to pack up. Four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here - compost in the sacks over there - and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”</p><p>She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder. A curly-haired Hufflepuff joined the tray me, Ron, and Hermione were working at. I recognised him by sight but I couldn’t put a name to his face.</p><p>“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he said brightly, shaking me by the hand. “Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter. And Hermione Granger, the top of everything. And Ron Weasley. Your twin brothers are a riot. But they’re good at it.”</p><p>“Hi, Justin,” I mumbled.</p><p>“That Lockhart’s something,” he said happily as we began filling our pots with dragon-dung compost. “Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I’d’ve died of fear if I had been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but he stayed cool - and <em> zap </em> - just fantastic. You know, my name was down for Eton, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to be here. Of course, mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…”</p><p>After that, we didn’t have much time to talk as our earmuffs were back on and we had to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout made it look very easy, but oh boy was it not. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists and gnashed their teeth. I had to spend ten whole minutes getting a particularly big one into its new home. By the end of the class, I, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in dirt. I think I like theory better than the practical. We trudged back to the castle for a quick wash, then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.</p><p>I don’t know what happened, but my magic didn’t seem to be working. Transfiguration with McGonagall was always hard work, and getting Fridays with the kind Professor Killian was a godsend, but today was particularly difficult. It was like some of my magic had gone over the summer holidays and I wasn’t fairing much better than Ron. We were supposed to be turning beetles into buttons, but all I had managed was giving my beetle a good exercise trying to avoid my wand. The Patil twins and Lavender were giggling in the corner of the room, waving their wands around and such. Ron kept brandishing his wand and accidentally squashed his beetle with it. Professor Killian was kind enough to give him a new one when he asked.</p><p>To be fair, I was grateful to hear the lunch spell. My brain felt like a wrung sponge, completely forgetting the reading I had done over the summer. I think it doesn’t cope well with school. Everyone filed out of the classroom, except for Ron and I. I kept whacking my wand furiously against the desk.</p><p>“Why - won’t - you - work?”</p><p>“If it’s faulty, I could write home for a new one,” Ron suggested.</p><p>“No, thanks Ron. I don’t know what happened,” I said. “It’s like I’ve forgotten how to do magic.”</p><p>“Guess you’re like the rest of us then.”</p><p>“Yeah. Maybe…”</p><p>We went down to lunch, where we were greeted by Hermione showing us the handful of perfect coat buttons she produced in Transfiguration.</p><p>“What do we have this afternoon?” I said, changing the subject.</p><p>“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione said at once.</p><p>“Why,” demanded Ron, seizing her timetable, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little hearts?”</p><p>Hermione snatched the timetable back, blushing furiously.</p><p> </p><p>We finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in <em> Voyages with Vampires </em> again. Ron and I stood talking about Quidditch for a few minutes before I became suddenly aware that I was being closely watched. Looking up, I saw a small mousy-haired boy I’d seen trying on the Sorting Hat (try not to think about that) last night staring at me as though transfixed. He was clutching an ordinary camera, and the moment I looked at him, he went bright red.</p><p>“Hiya, Harry. I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. “I’m in Gryffindor too. D’you think - would it be alright if - can I have a picture? Please?” he said, raising the camera hopefully.</p><p>My mind went blank for a moment, going back to the end of the seventh book, seeing his death. Maybe, this time around I could save him. “Uhh, yeah. Sure, Colin,” I said.</p><p>“Thank you so much. I want to prove that I’ve met you,” Colin said eagerly, edging further forward. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead” (his eyes raked my hairline) “ and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move,” he drew a shuddering breath and continued on.</p><p>“It’s brilliant here, isn’t it? I never knew all of the odd things I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking lots of good pictures to send home to him, And it’ll be really good if I had one of you. Maybe your friend could take and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”</p><p>“<em> Signed photo? </em> You’re giving out <em> signed photos </em>, Potter?”</p><p>Loud and annoyingly obnoxious, Draco’s voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped behind Coin, flanked, as he usually was, by the two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.</p><p>“Bugger off Malfoy,” Ron said loudly.</p><p>“Yeah right. Everyone queue up!” Draco roared to the crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”</p><p>“”Shut up, Malfoy,” I said angrily. “I’m not giving out signed photos.”</p><p>“You’re just jealous,” Colin piped up, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck.</p><p>“<em> Jealous? </em>” Draco didn’t need to shout anymore, half the courtyard was listening in. “Of what? I don’t need a foul scar right across my head, thanks, I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”</p><p>Crabbe and Goyle were snickering idiotically.</p><p>“Eat slugs, Malfoy,” Ron said angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a way that was supposed to be menacing.</p><p>“Or what, Weasley?” Draco sneered. “Or your mummy’ll come and take you home? Ooh, are you scared of your mummy, Weasley?”</p><p>Several older Slytherins laughed loudly at this.</p><p>“Weasel would like a signed photo, Potter,” he smirked. “I’d bet it would be worth more than his family’s whole house.”</p><p>Ron whipped out his wand, but Hermione shut <em> Voyages with Vampires </em> and whispered, “Look out!”</p><p>“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart was striding towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”</p><p>I started to speak but was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around my shoulders and thundered jovially. “Shouldn’t’ve asked! At last we meet, Harry Potter.”</p><p>Pinned to his side and burning with humiliation, I saw Draco slide laughing back into the crowd.</p><p>“Come on then Mr Creevey,” beamed Lockhart. “A double portrait, can’t say fairer than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”</p><p>Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signalling the start of afternoon classes.</p><p>“Off you go then, move along there,” Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with me clasped to his side. I wish I remembered a good vanishing spell.</p><p>“You know, it is finally good to meet you, Harry,” Lockhart said. “Two famous wizards, side by side. A word to the wise. I covered up for you back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me too, your school-fellows won’t think you’re setting yourself up so much…”</p><p>Deaf to my stammers, Lockhart swept me down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.</p><p>“Let me just say that handing out signed photos at this stage in your career isn’t sensible - looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well be a time when, like me, you’ll need to keep a steady stack handy wherever you go, but -” he gave a little chortle, “I don’t think you’re quite there.”</p><p>We reached his classroom, and he let me go at last. New thought: never meet your idols. Now I understand that. I yanked my robes straight and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where I stood up the two Lockhart books from the booklist so I didn’t have to see his damn face. The rest of the class came clambering a minute later, and Ron and Hermione sat next to me.</p><p>“You could’ve fried an egg on your face,” Ron said. “You’d better hope Colin doesn’t meet Ginny, they’ll be starting a Harry Potter fanclub.”</p><p>“You over Ginny’s Sorting then?” I asked.</p><p>“Yeah. There’s no denying it,” he replied. “She’s just like Fred. And I guess she made friends with that Ravenclaw. The one who sat next to her at breakfast. Malfoy’s just a jackass.”</p><p>When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville’s copy of <em> Travelling with Trolls </em> and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.</p><p>“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well, “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honourary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five times  winner of <em> Witch Weekly’s </em> Most-Charming-Smile Award - but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by <em> smiling </em> at her!”</p><p>He waited for us to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.</p><p>“I see you have all bought the two books off of the booklist. It is a shame Dumbledore didn’t have a requirement to get the complete set. But anyway, back to the lesson. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you’ve read the books, how much you’ve taken in…”</p><p>When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, “You have thirty minutes. Start - now!”</p><p>The quiz was two pages long, with twenty questions on two books. I don’t think I read those books more than once because I could barely remember the answers. Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.</p><p>“Tut tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in <em> Year with a Yeti </em> . Some of you need to read <em> Travelling with Trolls </em> more carefully - I clearly state in Chapter nine that my greatest achievement to date is fighting a werewolf with my bare hands.”</p><p>He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief; Seamus and Dean, who were sitting at the front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention, and gave a start when he mentioned her name.</p><p>“... but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions - good girl! In fact -” he flipped her paper over, “full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”</p><p>Hermione raised a trembling hand.</p><p>“Excellent!” beamed Lockhart. “”Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so, to business…”</p><p>He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.</p><p>“Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourself facing your worst in this room. Know only that no harm will befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”</p><p>In spite of myself, I turned down my books for a better look at the cage. What was that spell that stopped the creatures? Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing. Neville was cowering in his front-row seat.</p><p>“I must ask you not to scream,” Lockhart said in a low voice. “It might provoke them.”</p><p>As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.</p><p>“Yes,” he dramatically said. “<em> Freshly caught Cornish Pixies. </em>” Seamus couldn’t control himself. He let out a snort of laughter which even Lockhart couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror.</p><p>“Yes?” he smiled at Seamus.</p><p>“Well, they’re not - they’re not very - <em> dangerous </em>, are they?” Seamus choked.</p><p>“Don’t be so sure,” Lockhart said, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. “Devilish tricky blighters they can be!”</p><p>The pixies were electric blue and about fifteen centimetres high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a bunch of parrots arguing. The moment the cover was removed, they started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and pulling bizarre faces at the people nearest them.</p><p>“Right then,” said Lockhart loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage.</p><p>It was a frenzy. The pixies shot in every direction and looked like blue comets when they weren’t moving. Two of them grabbed Neville by the ears and lifted him in the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles, tore pictures from the walls, shredded books and threw them out of the smashed windows; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under the desks and Neville swinging from the candelabra in the ceiling.</p><p>“Come on now, round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies…” Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, “<em> Peskipiski Pesternomi! </em>”</p><p>It was absolutely useless, and one of the pixies yanked his wand and threw it out of the window. Lockhart gulped and dived under his desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the candelabra gave way. The bell rang and there was a mad rush to the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of me, Ron, and Hermione, almost at the door, and said, “Well, I’ll ask you three to just nip the rest of them back in their cage.” And he swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.</p><p>“Can you <em> believe him? </em>” roared Ron, as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.</p><p>“He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” said Hermione, immobilising two pixies at once with a Freezing Charm. Oh right, that makes more sense. I think I can do a Freezing Charm.</p><p>“<em> Hands on? </em>” I asked, attempting the Freezing Charm on several pixies. “Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.”</p><p>“Rubbish,” she said. “You’ve read his books - look at all the amazing stuff he’s done.”</p><p>“He <em> says </em> he’s done,” Ron muttered, batting a pixie away from his face with one of Lockhart’s books.</p>
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